Under The Willow
by mockingjay4life
Summary: Primrose Everdeen just wants to escape the memories of the Reaping. Will she find solace in the woods, or from an unlikely friend?


_This is my first one-shot, please let me know if you like it! If I get enough positive feedback I may continue :)_

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Under the Willow

"Primrose Everdeen. Primrose Everdeen." The voice dripping with the Capital accent replays over and over in my head. Hand in bowl, painted talons pulling out the slip, slowly unfolding it, a smile spreading. "Primrose Everdeen."

The guards reenter the room and herd us out. It wasn't enough time. A tear slips down my cheek. It could never have been enough time. Not when we are supposed to have forever. Two guards stand on either side of Mom and me and two in the back, squeezing us together. I keep my head down; I don't want to look at her. I don't want to see that vacant look in her eyes that took over after Dad died.

We're practically shoved out the door of the Justice Building, but I don't mind. The walls began to constrict around me, claustrophobia washing over. I vow to never walk through those doors again.

After standing inside the gloomy building so long, the sun blinds me. The clear skies mock me in my misery. A hand envelops my own; my mother's long fingers squeeze tight. I pull away quickly. And I run. Faster than I've ever run before. My pounding feet kick up dusty clouds behind me. No one calls out or follows me. I wouldn't have stopped, couldn't have stopped if they did.

I run past the square that had been jam packed just a few minutes ago. Or was it a few hours ago? I have no sense of time anymore; everything has been a blur since I heard my name. Primrose Everdeen. Primrose Everdeen. The few people still milling about the square shoot odd glances my way, but I don't slow. If anything their looks spur me forward. I don't want to be near them, I don't want to be near anyone anymore. There is only one person I want to be with right now, and they are taking her far away from me.

Past the merchants houses lined neatly in rows and past the shacks that litter the Seam. Every household was silent this morning, awaiting the Reaping. But now noise bubbles from each one. Light hearted chatter and laughter. It's the sound of families still intact. Mothers will hold their children tight tonight in relief, siblings will play in peace. Only two houses remain with blinds closed.

I hesitate when I reach my destination. I'm at the edge of the meadow, next to the tall electric fence, the part with a hole just large enough to slip under. I reach out my hand and graze the metal links. Did she really put her hands here just this morning? I glance around, but I'm alone. With my mind made up, I slide under the fence.

A shiver runs through my body. I feel like an intruder; these woods belong to Katniss. Hesitantly I step forward, under a deep thicket. No, I tell myself. I'm not trespassing. She would want me to be here, to keep them safe for her.

I've been in the woods before, but never without her. Before the accident I loved the woods, just a place for Katniss, my Dad, and me. Just sitting on the grassy knoll next to the lake, lazing in the sun and listening to him sing. Since then the trips have grown infrequent. The woods only exist now for our livelihood, not relaxing. And despite the lessons, I clearly did not inherit the knack for archery she and Dad shared, making me useless for hunting. So now the woods are hers alone.

I duck beneath a branch and fall forward as my ankle catches on wire that lies hidden amongst the brush. My knee bangs against a rock, and I feel blood begin to trickle down my leg. Instinctively I curl to the side, preventing myself from rolling down the incline. As I do, my teeth make contact with my tongue. I clamp my lips together to muffle the yelp. The pungent metallic taste that fills my mouth grows stronger.

My body splays across the rocks, and I lay there. Defeated. Tears spring forth and slide down my cheeks. I don't bother to wipe them, I don't move at all. Just lay here. Guilt weighs on me. I shouldn't have run away from Mom like that. She must be back in the Seam by now. The image of her sitting alone in our house, rocking back and forth in her chair crushes me. It was selfish.

"Primrose Everdeen." The forest spins as the voice cackles in my head. Squeezing my eyes shut is not enough to make it stop. Around and around I go.

"Primrose Everdeen. Primrose Everdeen." Katniss leaping forward to take my place, Gale dragging me away. I choke back a scream. I shouldn't have hesitated when I heard my name. I should be the one getting on that train.

Letting a few minutes pass, I eventually drag myself up, wincing as the gash on my knee stretches. The crimson liquid continues to fall, so I decide to wash it in the lake. I test out my legs, limping as I try to balance out my weight. Traveling with more caution now, I try to walk away from the large clumps of trees, squinting down every few moments to avoid any more injuries. Sweat begins to pool on my forehead as the afternoon rages on. I can't remember exactly how far the lake is, but I know I won't make it.

Eventually the wobbling of my leg becomes too much. Coming to a vast green knoll, I plop to the grass. Somewhere overhead a mockingjay begins to sing, the sweet crescendo helping me forget my pain. At least for the moment.

My mind begins to wander back to the square. Back to Katniss. "I volunteer as tribute." The three finger salute. My heart ripping out of my chest. The dizziness threatens to overcome me once more, but I'm interrupted by a crash behind me. A low grunt echoes through the trees. I am not alone.

Terror replaces heartache. On instinct I'm on my feet, waiting. As the rustling grows louder, my mind races uneasily. I thought I was careful. I didn't think anyone followed. Could there be cameras? No, Katniss manages to sneak out without getting caught. And Gale's even bigger. Gale! At the flash of a tan body emerging from the woods, my body heaves with relief.

But it's not the Hawthorne I was expecting. Our eyes lock and we face each other, sizing each other up. Rory shifts his weight to the side, clutching his right arm that must have been responsible for bringing down the branch. His mouth opens, as if to say something, but he seems to change his mind, snapping it shut and averting his gaze. Everything in the woods has come to a standstill, all life sucked up in a vacuum that left just the two of us behind. The quiet unnerves me until I'm forced to be the first to speak.

"What are you doing here?" I ask. It comes out harsher than I meant it to, and he raises his eyebrows.

"What are you doing here?" he retorts. "You shouldn't be out here you know." Seeing my face slump downward Rory continues, gentler now.

"What I meant was, you need to be careful. Gale says the Capitol tracks the tribute's families during the Games."

Shaking erupts from my body, the guilt of everything I've done taking a toll. Katniss awaits grave danger because of me, and now I might have done damage to my Mom too. The tremors build, the guilt bubbling under the surface until my knees buckle underneath me. The world grows foggy as the tears threaten to emerge once more.

I settle on the ground again, pulling my uninjured knee to my chest, and scrunch inward. Clomping footsteps advance, but I wish he would go away. As if reading my mind, they stop. I can almost hear the ticking clock work in his head, debating if he should continue. If it had been Gale that emerged from those woods, he would have dragged me out of here by now. No reprimand from him, probably no words at all. Just taken me home and never mention it again.

But it's Rory who is here with me. A memory suddenly surfaces. It's winter this past year, days after a huge snowstorm. The bitter cold had yet to relent, but despite this, children playing managed to turn the schoolyard into slush. As Rory walked to the schoolhouse he slipped on a sleek patch of ice and went tumbling. I had been with my friends in the corner of the yard. As he sat up, staring at the white brown sludge that covered him, I came to his side and offered him my arm.

Debts. This realization hits me when I feel the warmth radiating from his body grow closer. That's what brought him here instead of Gale. It's not like we're enemies or anything, but we've never been particularly close. Not like Gale and Katniss. He must share their obsessive idea of somehow repaying any good thing someone has done for them. This concept eludes me. That someone can't just do something nice because it's the right thing to do.

Somehow this thought becomes the final straw that breaks me and I cannot hold back the tears any longer. They tumble down my cheeks unabashedly now, even as the skin on my arm begins to prickle when Rory settles himself beside me. I don't look at him, but I can feel his gaze upon me, wordlessly watching as my entire world crumbles. He sits less than a foot away from me, his tan hand resting in the grass. Through my tears and shaking it almost looked like he just inched it closer to me, but when I blink it is back by his side.

The sound of ripping next to me grips my curiosity. I look over to see him tear a strip of fabric from the bottom of his shirt. He must notice me watching him and those grey eyes catch mine. He fumbles with the cloth in his hand.

"Your leg," he mumbles. He tilts his head towards my knee. The gush of blood has subsided, but small dribbles have pooled.

"Oh."

"I was just going to…" His lips curl slightly as he nods at the cloth. "I mean, I just thought you would…" His voice drifts off.

"Yeah, I wouldn't want it to get infected or anything," I admit. His face seems to relax a bit, shrugging his shoulders.

"Yeah. Right. Ok." The fabric continues to twist in his hands as he scoots his body forward. He glances up quickly, his eyes asking for permission. I nod and he sets to work. He lowers the strip on the wound and a spasm shoots through my leg. Drawing his hand away with speed, his eyes fill with horror.

"Sorry. Are you okay?"

"Fine." I grimace. "Just a bit gentler maybe."

Hesitating, he lowers the cloth once more. It tickles my skin as he carefully pats the scrape. I notice him bite his lip, working in deep concentration. He dabs lower, wiping the trail of crimson that left its mark all the way down to my sock. When he finishes, he rubs the drenched fabric on the grass and folds it into his pocket. We can't leave any traces we've been out here after all.

He shifts back up, his shoulders now aligned with mine. The mockingjays pick up their song. A half hour passes as we sit in peaceful silence. The sun begins its descent and the sky ripples with rose and gold.

"We should probably go."

He stands abruptly, brushing strands of green off his pants. His grey eyes flash as he bites his lip again. He lowers his arm; a moment of understanding passes without a word when I tuck my hand around it. Despite the gangly frame he's developed in the last few months, he lifts me with ease.

Rory leads the way out of the woods, glancing over his shoulder every few minutes to make sure I'm still behind him. My leg still aches, but I manage to keep up. When we reach the fence he lets me go first, holding the chains as I duck under. From the other side, I do the same for him and he wiggles beneath the bush. Checking that we are still alone, we walk side by side through the meadow. I expect him to diverge, but he follows my path, until we finally reach my front door.

With an unsteady pace his fingers begin to tap against his jeans. I wait for him to say something. He's the one who followed me. Though his face cocks level with mine, his gaze passes beyond my shoulder, eyes darting wildly.

"Well." His stare evens out, though our eyes still do not meet. Goosebumps surface on my arms. Around us, the hot air smothers my lungs, no breeze at all.

"Well." His fingers seem to quicken their dance. "Just…just don't go out there again."

He pauses and I open my mouth to protest. What right does he have to tell me this? My protest is cut short when he continues.

"Or just…just don't go out there alone."

Finally blue eyes meet twinkling slate, and a sheepish grin emerges on his face. This time I'm the one to break away first when I feel my cheeks prickle. I nod, my head tilted to the side. I'm relieved that dusk creeps upon us, hopefully masking the flush.

"Goodnight, Primrose Everdeen." The words hang in the night sky as Rory Hawthorne turns away from me, hands in pockets, fading into the darkness. And as I watch his silhouette disappear, I think that for the first time today, my name doesn't sound so bad.


End file.
